


Our Love is like Water, Pinned Down and Abused for being Strange

by InfiniteJediLove



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Obi-Wan, But no major character death, Destruction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Trauma, First Time, Graphic Violence, Hostile Environment, Hurt Obi-Wan, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Noncon, Imprisonment, Jedi Team, Jedi bond, Knight Kenobi, M/M, NOTHING NONCON OR ABUSIVE BETWEEN MAIN PAIRING, Near-Death Experience, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon aren’t master and apprentice, Protective Obi-Wan, consensual sexual content, hurt Qui-Gon, protective Qui-Gon, purist society, reference to drugged state, serious physical injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9640493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteJediLove/pseuds/InfiniteJediLove
Summary: Imprisoned in a brutal labor camp with no hope of escape, Qui-Gon Jinn finds out how much Obi-Wan Kenobi means to him and just how far the man will go to keep him safe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The first two paragraphs of this fic were written ages ago, but I never had a clear idea what the story was, then I decided to sit down and just write what came in my head. Turns out my head is a strange place where I love to throw Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon in shitty situations and watch them crawl out and into each other’s arms. I had a strong urge to write Protective Obi-Wan from a Qui-Gon pov, though the fic has both hurt Obi-Wan and hurt Qui-Gon ‘cause I love hurt/comfort. For those of you unfamiliar with my works, know that I will never have Major Character Death, so rest assured that no matter how dark the fic gets, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon will survive. 
> 
> The title of this fic is the opening line to the song ‘All Over You’ by Live. The poem quoted in here is by the incredible German novelist and poet Rainer Maria Rilke and is titled ‘Night (This Night, Agitated by Growing Storm).’ 
> 
> there is sexual content in this fic, it's consensual and not overtly explicit, though there is a lot of detail. if you're not comfortable reading sexual content you can stop reading the fic when you see the fifth ***

_This night, agitated by growing storm,_   
_how it has suddenly expanded it’s dimensions –,_   
_that ordinarily would have gone unnoticed,_   
_like a cloth folded, and hidden in the folds of time._

_Where the stars give resistance it does not stop there,_   
_neither does it begin within the forest’s depths,_   
_nor show upon the surface of my face_   
_nor with your appearance._

_The lamps keep swaying, fully unaware:_   
_is our light lying?_   
_Is night the only reality_   
_that has endured through thousands of years?_

 

It rained hard. Day and night were barely indistinguishable from one another on KalVris, the small planet’s sky permanently darkened with storms during the Time of Rain. That was all Qui-Gon knew now, the lack of sunlight, the endless downpour, and the struggle to keep moving. It had been three weeks of constant work. Pain had become a side effect of everything and he forgot what caused a bruise by the time the bruise was visible on his body. Mud and rain soaked his long hair and beard, running in dark rivulets down his pale bare chest and arms, clinging to his drenched pants. He had bartered the rest of his clothing away to other prisoners in order to gather information, anything to know if escape was possible.

It was not the first time he had been trapped in a labor camp. As a Jedi there were risks to every mission, even the least dangerous assignments could lead to tragic outcomes. Qui-Gon had survived situations that had appeared far more hopeless but he found this time to be worse than any other imprisonment he had ever endured. It wasn’t the work or the ruthless weather that threatened to break him, it was Obi-Wan.

He had hardly known the man before they were assigned the mission to KalVris together. Obi-Wan Kenobi was newly knighted, still a few years shy of thirty. His age and rank were the reason their paths had rarely crossed. Qui-Gon had only once met the man in passing a year or two previous when Obi-Wan was still a padawan. He recalled little about that meeting except for Obi-Wan’s silent presence when Qui-Gon had exchanged greetings with Obi-Wan’s master. He had formed no opinion on the man’s character then, there had been nothing that caught his attention except for the unusual color of Obi-Wan’s eyes, green-blue and faintly gray like the way a ocean would look in the earliest hours of the morning. When they met again to accept the Council’s assignment, Qui-Gon’s initial sense of the man had been of someone quiet, rule-oriented, and focused. The man’s mind was intriguing, his Force presence orderly and contained while Qui-Gon’s was constantly in movement with the Living Force. They had talked only briefly before entering KalVris’ orbit and only then on matters that concerned the mission.

It had been Obi-Wan who had known that something was wrong first. Obi-Wan who had attempted to safely crash their ship when they were shot down. Obi-Wan who had tried to negotiate with the locals while supporting a barely conscious Qui-Gon when the human inhabitants of KelVris’ colony surrounded what was left of their burning ship.

None of it mattered. They had been captured, their lightsabers taken from them. They were led through a dark forest of massive trees, Qui-Gon staying upright only by Obi-Wan’s smaller body holding him steady. That was when the pain had begun to trickle through the natural defenses of his mind. His knee had been twisted badly in the crash, already swelling so that any weight on it caused a sharp pain to pulse through him. His left arm had been dislocated and hung loosely at his side. Qui-Gon suspected he also had a bad concussion, his ability to gather the Force was limited but he had sensed even then that something was not right with Obi-Wan. The man had made no sound and had given no indication that he was in pain. He had taken on the majority of Qui-Gon’s bodyweight calmly, unfazed by the men who circled them prodding them forward with blasters so antique that the shots the men had fired when first encountering the two Jedi were more projectile than laser.

His memory of their arrival into the labor camp was unclear. Qui-Gon had yet to recall much about the first few days. He remembered a clearing of grass and rock and being led downhill. There had been the sound of rushing water audible even over the thunder and the rain and the guards who yelled back and forth to one another in their own language. He had known then that they were near some sort of rapids. It was possible that an opportunity for escape had existed during that time but Qui-Gon had been too injured from the crash to notice and even if he had he knew now that Obi-Wan would have refused to abandon him despite Jedi protocol that insisted a individual escape when they could regardless of those they left behind. It was the only reasonable solution, if Obi-Wan had managed to get free than he could have returned to rescue Qui-Gon later. Qui-Gon knew he had tried to convince Obi-Wan through the Force but his mind would not cooperate, his injuries too severe. Obi-Wan had understood though and Qui-Gon remembered the way the man’s arm had tightened around Qui-Gon’s back from where Obi-Wan supported him, the younger man’s jaw lifted stubbornly. It had been clear that Obi-Wan had no intention of leaving him and Qui-Gon gripped by the beginnings of a fever brought on by the pain had thought half-wildly, _who is this Jedi?_

The constant onslaught of rain increased and Qui-Gon ducked his head, not bothering to push back the wet clumps of long matted hair that fell forward obscuring his vision briefly. He waded around another prisoner, both of them knee-deep in water. The labor camp had been built on a slope, the incline enough that a mudslide could happen if the rain continued for much longer. The ground was saturated as it was, Qui-Gon having to move quickly despite his still swollen knee, his bare feet sinking deeper into the cold mud at each step. A deep channel had been dug through the camp directing the rainwater toward a quarry that acted as a reservoir while a stone wall surrounded all sides of the camp. The thick ten-meter high walls were effective at sealing off any avenue for escape but Qui-Gon knew that the heavy rain was putting immense pressure on the environment around them. Any low ground was filled with liquid; the ditch used for draining water continued to widen and deepen as the rain fell in a heavy torrent. Qui-Gon moved in and out of the dug channel, gathering rock, the water rising above his knees as he waded back in. For the last few days the laborers had done nothing but shove rock and mud against the sides of the stone wall, attempting to patch weaknesses while the guards prowled the edges of the camp perimeter intent on punishing those who could not keep up with the continuous work.

Qui-Gon looked down at his large hands briefly, his palms raw from scraping against the sharp rocks used to fortify the stone walls. The rain stung his battered skin, his body aching. His injuries had not properly healed, Obi-Wan had reset his dislocated arm and Qui-Gon was well enough to walk but severe muscle pain lingered and his right kneecap was swollen and aching, protesting him putting direct weight on it. The lack of food and hard labor was weakening him, preventing him from fully recovering.

He thought of Obi-Wan. At first he had believed the man had been relatively unscathed from the crash. Obi-Wan had said nothing regarding his injuries, had continued rising for work each morning but Qui-Gon knew that there was internal damage that had not healed. During the crash the emergency restraints had failed and the pilot’s chair had slammed into the console when their ship had impacted into the densely wooded area. He had been briefly knocked out, waking only to Obi-Wan half-pulling, half-dragging him from the burning wreckage. The younger man was not very muscular or tall but he had proven in the crash that he was agile and surprisingly strong, as well as capable of remaining levelheaded in a severe crisis. Obi-Wan’s wounds were less visible than his own but he suspected they were much more serious. The other Jedi knight tried to hide it from him but he had seen Obi-Wan cough blood, the younger man’s lungs struggling for air, his motions slowed with pain. Every morning it was slightly worse, Obi-Wan’s gaze turned inward, trying to heal what he could not.

A distant roar of thunder vibrated through Qui-Gon’s body, lightning flashing so that for a moment the darkness lifted, his surroundings eerily lit as rain pounded down. Qui-Gon stilled for a second, risking punishment to look for Obi-Wan. But the light was gone and with it any indication that Obi-Wan was nearby. The labor camp housed hundreds and he could not sense Obi-Wan’s mind at all anymore. His ability to use the Force had been disoriented by the stimulants forcibly injected into him and the other prisoners. The drug served the purpose of keeping the laborers working while also rendering them compliant. No one fought against the guards, the prisoners did not even defend themselves when beaten. Addiction prevented any laborers from resisting or escaping. The need for the drug consumed all else and Qui-Gon had grown used to seeing laborers executed when they could not withstand the beginnings of withdrawal that set in every night until the next injection the following morning. Fortunately, neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan had succumbed to the mental pull of the drugs, their Jedi skills in combating exposure to poison or harmful chemicals gave them that at least.

The clang of metal against metal signaled the end of the workday, the sound barely overheard over the rain and thunder. Qui-Gon looked up, too tired to feel relief as he and the other workers began to trudge back toward the barracks where they slept. Rest would only be a few brief hours. His Force sense was slightly stronger now, the drug easing enough that he was fairly certain Obi-Wan was still alive. Anxiety rose in him as he stumbled into the barracks looking for Obi-Wan, unsure of what the man’s state would be. Obi-Wan was not there and Qui-Gon limped to one of the bunks that lined the walls of the barracks. More people were coming in, most of the laborers half-dressed as Qui-Gon was. Their human bodies were wet with mud and rain and he looked for one that would be slightly smaller and thin, Obi-Wan’s size. His knee throbbed as he stood still, the swollen injury feeling oddly hollow as if someone had carved out the surrounding flesh there, leaving only the bones to grate against one another and send sharp familiar pain jolting through him. His anxiety increased, ending only when a slight figure slipped through the mass of people and moved toward him.

Obi-Wan did not stumble as Qui-Gon did. He walked with a tense movement of limbs, each step taken in a controlled motion that attempted to hide his suffering. Pain was not something he would reveal. In a strange way he had appointed himself Qui-Gon’s protector in the camp, to show weakness in front of others left them both vulnerable. Still, Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan’s shoulders relax very faintly as he glimpsed Qui-Gon standing near one of the bunks. The relief at knowing that they had survived another day was overwhelming and it was all Qui-Gon could do to not reach out and touch Obi-Wan’s face. As the younger man neared he noticed the slight tremor running through Obi-Wan’s pale body. It was more likely a side effect of the man’s internal injuries than the drug but Qui-Gon was unsure. He regarded Obi-Wan closely in the near-darkness. The man looked so different then he had at the start of the mission. Then he had appeared clean and healthy, now he was soaking wet with mud streaked over his torso. He was shirtless, his ribs more apparent. The long bangs of his short hair hung dripping into his eyes. Water clung to his lashes, running down his temple, his cheekbone, his jaw that had the beginnings of a beard.

They did not speak, Qui-Gon had heard Obi-Wan’s voice only a few times and never since they arrived at the camp. Greenish eyes looked up at him, studying him and Qui-Gon reached out, touching Obi-Wan’s shoulder, feeling wet rain-chilled skin. Without direct contact with the Force he found he was more tactile with the other Jedi than he would normally be. He could barely sense Obi-Wan even with the drug starting to fade from his system. Touch provided a grounding effect for both of them though it was no more than this, a hand on a shoulder, fingers encircling a wrist. He wanted to brush Obi-Wan’s hair out of the man’s eyes but such a gesture would be ridiculed and demeaned by the other laborers who watched him and Obi-Wan with barely concealed aversion. It had been clear by their space-pale skin and Jedi tunics when they arrived that they were offworlders, a status that earned them increased hostility from the guards and their fellow laborers. Most KalVrisites were purists, regarding any intrusion from outsiders to be an invasion of their culture. At their mission debriefing the Jedi had been led to believe that KalVris society had changed but it appeared old prejudices were still very much intact.

The sound of rain on the metal roof above them nearly drowned out the jeers of the other prisoners when he carefully laid down on the bed, Obi-Wan crawling in to lie beside him. Qui-Gon studied Obi-Wan’s motions, looking for any indication that Obi-Wan’s injuries were worse. There was the slight pause as Obi-Wan bent down to climb into the bunk, a hiss of breath as he settled next to Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan blinked, grimacing and in the darkness of the room Qui-Gon saw the man swallow, blood at the corner of his mouth.

Wordlessly, their hands touched. Qui-Gon offering his, Obi-Wan’s fingers curling tightly around Qui-Gon’s, pressing hard, the only acknowledgement of pain that he would give. The pressure stung Qui-Gon’s sore palms but it was a welcome sting. Here, in this way, he could care for Obi-Wan. They were careful that the other workers didn’t see them hold hands, aware of eyes lingering on their bunk. They had shared a bed since the first day for warmth and safety, but it didn’t stop the other laborers from expecting some sort of show. Qui-Gon ignored the stares, concentrating on that barely there thread of connection between him and Obi-Wan’s Force presences.

The endless hammering of rain above them covered the noise of the others settling into exhausted sleep. Qui-Gon remained alert, Obi-Wan’s hand tightly held in his. He knew Obi-Wan was awake as well. He could only faintly sense the other Jedi now but even the barest contact of the Force calmed them both. He touched Obi-Wan’s wrist and Obi-Wan rolled onto his side carefully, a gasp of pain escaping him as he tucked his head beneath Qui-Gon’s chin. His cheek rested on the man’s collarbone, his hands against Qui-Gon’s chest, fingers curled into loose fists. Qui-Gon put an arm around Obi-Wan and wished for a blanket, for his own body to be warmer to provide some comfort for Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon remembered the trip to KalVris, Obi-Wan’s quiet humility, his stern almost studious way of approaching the mission information. It wasn’t so much that Obi-Wan had changed as much as another side of him was now visible, turning him into this silent creature who refused to show he was injured, who sacrificed his own well-being again and again to take care of Qui-Gon.

He had no idea why Obi-Wan was so protective of him. He was decades older than Obi-Wan and had years more Jedi experience in dangerous situations. He was six inches taller than the man and though he was thin his broad shoulders and strong torso made Obi-Wan’s light frame seem somewhat delicate next to him. But there was nothing fragile about the man he held, he knew that, just as he knew that Obi-Wan would die willingly for him. Such loyalty went beyond Jedi principles of what was expected to save another’s life. He did not question Obi-Wan on the matter, knowing he wouldn’t receive an answer and aware deep inside that he too was bound to the man by more than the common ties between Jedi.

He rested his cheek against Obi-Wan’s wet hair, allowing what little he could sense of the Force to enfold the man, offering whatever peace he could provide before the injection that would come in the morning and with it the terrible emptiness of losing this tentative contact between their minds. Obi-Wan’s Force sense was barely tangible but he could faintly feel Obi-Wan’s ordered mind, the intensity of his constant pain, and the vastness of some powerful unknown emotion that radiated from the man. The emotion was always directed toward him, encircling him and he returned it, the exchange purifying as their minds touched without conscious thought.

Qui-Gon bit his lip hard, his arm tightening slightly around Obi-Wan who had fallen into a light sleep, the man ready to awaken at any sudden movement. Rain continued to slam into the roof, the sound and smell and knowledge of so much water was overwhelming. He closed his eyes, listening to the hum of Obi-Wan’s Force presence. The mud on his damp skin was drying and he gently pulled Obi-Wan closer, their naked torsos pressing into one another, Obi-Wan’s body fitting perfectly against his own.

* * *

He woke to the clanging that signaled the beginning of another workday. Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan stir against him, the room still dark. Obi-Wan turned his head, his breath warm against Qui-Gon’s collarbone, the sensation fleeting but pleasant. The Force was stronger, almost within his reach but it evaded Qui-Gon’s touch, the drug still preventing him from using it. He felt Obi-wan shudder as he moved to get up, the younger man coughing. Qui-Gon reached for him but Obi-Wan was already stumbling to his feet, joining the line of prisoners. Qui-Gon slid out of the bed, hissing as he put weight on his damaged leg. He limped over to stand next to Obi-Wan, shivering in the cold, uncertain if his knee would be able to withstand more hours of grueling work. The other laborers were murmuring, twitching as they waited eagerly near the door. The drug would be injected before work began. Many of the prisoners were shuddering uncontrollably, feverish from the early stages of withdrawal. Other laborers remained in their beds, too weak to move, imprisoned in a delirium of need for the drug

Qui-Gon wondered bleakly how long it would be before he or Obi-Wan reached that point. They couldn’t hold off the addiction for much longer and the damage it caused them to be cut off from the Force was fast growing debilitating. He knew that the Temple would be aware that something had gone wrong. If two weeks passed without contact with their ship or them, standard protocol requested that a search be made. But the stormy atmosphere and remoteness of the labor camp made the likelihood of Obi-Wan and him being found soon very low.

Obi-Wan coughed again, swaying in front of Qui-Gon before steadying himself, shaking his head slightly at Qui-Gon’s concern. Qui-Gon wished suddenly, desperately that he could see Obi-Wan, the overcast sky of morning was hardly better than the darkness of night. He could not fully remember details of the man’s features anymore.

The door opened, a guard stood there, watching the group of laborers warily. The line of workers shuffled forward, anxious for the drug and their meager food rations. Rain surged over them, Qui-Gon drenched in seconds as he stepped outside. Mud stuck to his skin, the ground sinking slightly beneath his steps. The line of laborers snaked through the pools of water and mud, toward another badly constructed building where they would be injected, given food, and released to work.

He kept his head down to avoid the guard watching for any form of disobedience. Another guard appeared at the front of the line ahead while the guard behind them slipped into the barracks. A flash of lightning came, showing the long line of prisoners in front of him. Qui-Gon stared at Obi-Wan’s mud splattered back, the spine and ribs more visible than they should be. Behind him the sound of blasterfire came from the barracks. Qui-Gon reached out, taking Obi-Wan’s hand as he saw Obi-Wan stumble, both aware of what was happening. Those too weak to work were eliminated, he had witnessed it before in other prisons but never quite like this. Obi-Wan held onto his hand, surprising him. In the day they could not allow their closeness to be known but here, this was a halfway point, not quite night, not quite day. Water poured over them, chafing Qui-Gon’s skin. The constant wetness burned his injured knee, reminding him that being shot by a guard was only one way to die, the inability to stay dry made it much easier for wounds to become infected and illnesses to become fatal.

The line stopped, they waited as a few laborers at a time were led into the guarded building. Standing was worse than moving and he leaned heavily on his good leg. Obi-Wan coughed in front of him again, wavering slightly. Qui-Gon clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around Obi-Wan’s. The younger Jedi’s health was fading, the soft translucent feel of the man’s Force presence weakening, reminding him that they were running out of time.

Finally they were pushed forward into the building, the door opening into a small empty room. Qui-Gon blinked to clear rain from his eyes, dropping Obi-Wan’s hand as a guard stepped near them. The room was lit only by the overcast sky outside, the space shadowed. Qui-Gon could see the shapes of two other guards standing by one of the walls. Obi-Wan stepped in front of Qui-Gon, the motion frail but instinctive, the Force pulsing with warning. Something was different. Normally there was only one guard present when they received injections. Qui-Gon could vaguely sense the other minds in the room, the heavy emotions directed toward them. Distrust and brutality were responses that Qui-Gon had grown accustom to receiving from purist species over his decades as a Jedi but this emotion he had rarely encountered. He had dealt with being propositioned before but this was different, there was a calculated viciousness behind the guards lust, a predatory cruelty he had not sensed from them before.

One of the men muttered something in his language, a few of the others gave sharp laughs. Most of them were shorter than Qui-Gon but well fed and armed. He was very aware of his own injuries and Obi-Wan who stood still, trembling in front of him, eyes following each guards movement. A tall guard approached, both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon tensing. The man circled them, keeping his distance. He stopped in front of them.

“Velsire dar vish ra tel?” he demanded, gaze trailing over Obi-Wan’s exposed chest before moving downward.

A small smile curved his lips, he stepped back, gesturing to the guards. One of them lifted his ancient blaster, Qui-Gon moved forward to shield Obi-Wan even as the blastershot slammed into his leg, shattering his damaged knee. He fell to the floor, having no memory of crying out. Pain broke over him and Qui-Gon gritted his teeth, trying to push the agony aside with the Force. His control was weak, his vision darkening at the edges. Blood was soaking through the fabric of his pants, pooling on the floor.

The two guards against the wall grabbed Obi-Wan, pinning the smaller man’s arms behind his back, their blunt features lit with dark pleasure as Obi-Wan struggled against them. Qui-Gon tried to stand, to protect Obi-Wan, the emotions in the room sickening him at what he was suddenly overwhelmingly aware of was about to happen. The taller guard stepped near, watching him half-rise, dragging his useless leg as he tried to move toward Obi-Wan even as he was pushed back, the guard smiling slightly again.

Obi-Wan had frozen, his entire body stilling. His face was impossible to fully see in the dark room as one of the guards grabbed the Jedi’s matted short hair, yanking Obi-Wan’s head back, and hissing something in the smaller man’s ear. A part of Qui-Gon untethered to Jedi principles of pacifism and emotional control was lost to uncontrollable fury and fear at his own helplessness as he staggered upright.

The guard in front of him snarled unintelligible words impatiently. He spat in Qui-Gon’s face, slamming the heel of his boot into Qui-Gon’s ruined knee, sending the older man to the floor again. Qui-Gon’s hands slid on duracrete made slick from water and blood as he tried to pull himself up once more, his body throbbing in agony, struggling to stay conscious. A hand pushed over the wet skin of his back, fingers hooking into the waistband of his trousers. He felt shame before he felt fear, hardly registering the callused fingers that slid around his hipbone. Qui-Gon lashed out with a fist, knocking the guard back as he tried to stand again. A sharp command in that unknown language stilled him as the guard holding Obi-Wan raised his blaster, setting the barrel behind Obi-Wan’s ear.

Qui-Gon stilled, he could not see Obi-Wan’s face clearly in the shadows but he watched the man’s shoulders jerk as his head was forced further back. The tall guard stepped forward, gesturing to Obi-Wan and then Qui-Gon, his mind devoid of any emotion but the intent to hurt. Qui-Gon stared at the guards who held Obi-Wan, at the blaster pressed against the younger man’s skull. He could not grasp the Force, could not use his powers to wrench the weapon away. There was only one option. He knelt willingly, biting his lip at the pain that tore through him as his shattered knee pressed against the unyielding stone floor.

Rain poured on the roof, he could smell it everywhere, focusing on that as the guard reached out again. This time the large fingers slid down his bare chest, probing at a bruise over a rib. Qui-Gon flinched but gave no other response. He hardly registered the touch, his mind focused on remaining still, submitting so that the guards would not hurt Obi-Wan. He knew what the men intended. His adherence to the Jedi code left him inexperienced in matters of the body but he was not naïve. He tried to raise shields, to protect his mind from the emotions he could not control, crushing anger, humiliation, powerlessness, and a bittersweet relief that at least Obi-Wan would be spared this brutality.

The guard’s other hand tangled in Qui-Gon’s long hair, pulling at the fistful he held of the silver-brown mane, attempting to get the Jedi to respond to the pain. Qui-Gon refused to cry out even as his body shuddered. He could feel the Force, rising and building but it was outside his control. He could do nothing. He only wished Obi-Wan did not have to see this. The guard looked down at him, his harsh gaze calculating as he gripped Qui-Gon’s bearded jaw, studying the older man’s mouth. Qui-Gon looked past the man, focusing on some point of the wall opposite him, determined not to think about what he sensed the man wanted to do.

Beneath the agony surging through his knee, he felt a moment of unbroken silence and fear before Obi-Wan suddenly moved. The younger man smashed an elbow into the guard holding him, cracking ribs and ducking his head as the guard’s blaster went off, the shot resounding through the room. Qui-Gon cried out in fear as he heard it hit flesh. Frantically, he tried to get up, collapsing again at the pain. Obi-Wan was still upright, moving with swift violence, backhanding the injured guard to the floor and grabbing the man’s blaster. He swiveled, shooting the other guard who reached for him and kicking the man aside as he straightened up, blaster raised. The guard in front of Qui-Gon twisted, reaching desperately for his weapon but Obi-Wan was already firing. The first blaster shot hit the guard’s shoulder, knocking the guard backward as the next shot tore through the man’s side. Something more than anger or a need to protect slammed through the Force, radiating from Obi-Wan, the emotion so strong that it seemed to give off heat inside Qui-Gon’s mind. He gasped, still trying to rise, the smell of blood filling his senses.

Obi-Wan lowered the blaster, moving toward him, staggering suddenly and almost falling. Qui-Gon reached out for him as Obi-Wan dropped to his knees in front of him. The man’s chest was heaving, a strange wrecked gasp coming from him. Lightning flashed outside as Qui-Gon’s fingers closed on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the younger man lifting his head. In that moment of light he saw the pale dirty skin of Obi-Wan’s upper body, blood spilling over the ribs from the wound torn in Obi-Wan’s chest, the guards blasters so old that they did not have the cauterizing effect of laser damage to slow the bleeding. Obi-Wan coughed weakly, a wet broken sound, blood ran from his nose and mouth, his blue-green eyes still blazing with that vast emotion that pushed through the Force, alive even as it faded. Wordlessly, Qui-Gon tried to stem the bleeding, Obi-Wan leaning into him, fighting for breath.

The door slammed open, the silhouette of a guard stood in front of them. A wailing mechanical noise Qui-Gon had never heard before resounded through the camp, the rainstorm almost drowning it out. The guard seemed not to see the dead bodies of the other guards, he staggered back out into the rain as if in a daze. A terrible grinding noise came in the distance.

Qui-Gon no longer cared what happened. He fumbled at the dead guard beside him, looking for anything that could work as medical supplies. The Force swirled around him, chaotic, impossible to harness. He ripped off part of the guard’s coat, pressing the fabric to Obi-Wan’s chest, trying to bind the wound. A hand slid weakly up and rested on top of his. He could not see Obi-Wan in the dark but he knew what the man was trying to tell him. He shook his head, pulling Obi-Wan gently up into his arms, he inhaled sharply as he tried to stand. They had to escape while the guards were distracted, it was the only way he could get Obi-Wan the medical treatment the man needed. His leg nearly gave out beneath him, he could not put weight on it. Obi-Wan pushed against his chest, managing to stand on his own. They leaned against one another, Obi-Wan shuddering but staggering toward the open door. The wailing noise seemed to be an alarm of some sort, the dark shapes of prisoners and guards were barely visible in the downpour. Panic echoed through the Force from the others but Qui-Gon could only concentrate on the need to get Obi-Wan somewhere safe. Whatever was happening, rather it was rescue or death no longer mattered.

Obi-Wan did not resist when Qui-Gon slid an arm around the man’s shoulders, taking on the other Jedi’s weight as Obi-Wan had done for him. They moved into the rain, Qui-Gon dragging his right leg. Prisoners ran past them but they were no more than inconsequential ghosts in the darkness. Both of them stopped, Obi-Wan shaking against him as Qui-Gon’s grip on the man tightened gently. The sky was lighting barely into the dark gray of morning, enough so that they could see the panic-stricken guards and prisoners who ran without any direct path. Water sloshed against their feet, the entire ground covered. Through the streaming rain Qui-Gon saw the massive stone wall surrounding the camp shiver along one side. Over the edge of the stone, water was pouring. They froze, watching the wall strain and flex. Qui-Gon thought of the rapids they had passed when brought to the labor camp, the endless rain, the liquefied ground…

“Qui-Gon.” Obi-Wan whispered raggedly.

His low voice was raw, it was the first word Qui-Gon had heard him speak since they had arrived at the camp. Obi-Wan leaned heavily against him, blood dripping from his jaw, his injured chest heaving for air. Qui-Gon touched his face, knowing only that there was no time and he was not ready to let go. Lightning flashed against the dark sky so that Qui-Gon saw how Obi-Wan lifted his head, looking out at the stone wall, his greenish eyes luminescent with a terrible sadness and longing.

The ground quaked beneath them, knocking them off their feet. A noise too loud and encompassing to be mere sound came as the rock forming the stone wall exploded outward, boulders shattering like glass as a massive wave of water surged toward them, swallowing everything in its path. They were thrown again by the explosion, Qui-Gon only having time to grab unto Obi-Wan’s arm before the wave hit them.

He was plunged in cold darkness, something sharp struck him, tossing him aside. There was no air, nothing to grasp hold of. His grip tightened on Obi-Wan, the man’s body weighing him down as he fought to reach the surface. Debris slammed past him, the rush of water obliterating all familiarity of his surroundings. There was no ground, no sky, only water pounding against him.

A flash of light caught his eye, the shine jewel-like above the water. He kicked, his knee protesting. Something flared inside him and he realized he could sense the Force stronger now. He reached out, using it as an anchoring point as he clawed at the water above him. A wave sucked him under, nearly wrenching Obi-Wan from him before pushing them to the surface. He gasped, his lungs stuttering, momentarily forgetting the motion of breathing before dragging in air. There were screams around him from the others, distant under the paralyzing roar of the water.

Another flash of light lit the sky, a jut of rock exposed in the writhing waves of water loomed toward them. Qui-Gon tried to shield Obi-Wan with his body as the water hit the rock. The current was sharply diverted, their bodies pushed past, narrowly missing being crushed against the boulder, the jagged surface scraping along his side. He grabbed on to it, fighting the pull of the water as he hauled Obi-Wan up onto the rock, using the Force to push his aching muscles to hold on, dragging himself up. Water poured from him, the flood becoming larger beneath them, sucking more into it. Qui-Gon collapsed, limbs shaking, his knee unwilling to move any longer.

He forced aside the pain, immediately turning Obi-Wan’s limp body over and beginning resuscitation. He pressed against Obi-Wan’s chest, fingers on cold skin, his mouth breathing into Obi-Wan’s, tasting blood, gasping air between breaths to give to Obi-Wan what he could, whatever he could. Rain pulled at them, his hair sticking to their skin as he pressed the flat of his palms into Obi-Wan, blood slid over his hands, the man’s ribs straining beneath the necessary pressure. He pulled back, frantically feeling for a pulse, unwilling to stop even as Obi-Wan remained still, eyes closed, body limp beneath him.

“I won’t leave you!” Qui-Gon cried out, grabbing Obi-Wan’s face in his hands, staring hard at the man who had protected him, who had refused to abandon him.

There was only the pouring rain, the rush of water below them. In the darkness, his head dropped to the man’s shoulder, arms wrapping around Obi-Wan. Something in him broke even as he curled his larger body around Obi-Wan’s to keep it safe, taking the man’s hand in his, offering the comfort he knew he would never give another. The water was still rising but it did not matter. What mattered was gone.

“I won’t leave you.” He whispered.

The body beneath his suddenly twitched, shuddering, the Force flickering like a flame inside Qui-Gon’s mind. Qui-Gon pulled back sharply, quickly turning Obi-Wan on his side as Obi-Wan coughed brokenly, blood flowing sluggishly from the blaster wound in his chest, the entry point dangerously close to his heart. Qui-Gon rested his hand on Obi-Wan’s back, the younger man too weak to lift his head.

Water sprayed against the rock, rain pelting down. Qui-Gon carefully shifted Obi-Wan so that he was holding him again, knowing nothing had changed. All they had was a little more time. The water was rising, the flood increasing. There was nowhere he could carry Obi-Wan that would be safe. They could go no further.

Obi-Wan was shuddering and Qui-Gon could feel his own body shaking, he reached out, fingers gently touching Obi-Wan’s face. The man’s eyelids fluttered, gazing at him in the dark, his whole body infused with pain, his Force sense weak even as it reached for Qui-Gon, their minds entwining. They lay close, the rain pounding down on them so hard that Qui-Gon closed his eyes against the onslaught, trying to shield the man slightly with his body, accepting whatever ending came as long as he remained with Obi-Wan.

* * *

He woke, his clothing stripped from him, bandaging tight across his ribs, a breath mask covering his mouth. Oxygen tubes ran from the mask to several machines nearby. Qui-Gon lifted a hand weakly, fumbling at the mask, trying to move his fingers, trying to get up. He couldn’t breathe properly, his chest burning. He was forced back down, hands stilling him. Qui-Gon struggled. Obi-Wan…he needed to know if Obi-Wan was safe…he tried to reach through the Force, to find that connection he had with the man but it was jumbled with pain. Every breath caused him to shudder with agony. A face hovered over him, he could barely see it, could no longer think beyond the need to know where Obi-Wan was…

When Qui-Gon woke again he was aware of someone else in the room. He tried to speak, forgetting the oxygen mask. A human came over to the bed, his brow wrinkled with concern.

“Don’t say anything.” He instructed, checking the oxygen mask, Qui-Gon ignored him, trying to sit up.

He was gently pushed down, the man above him frowning, his dark blue uniform standing out in the dimly lit gray room.

“You can’t move right now. You’ve broken two ribs and shattered your kneecap, not to mention the water we found in your lungs when –.”

Qui-Gon reached for the oxygen mask but the man pushed his hand aside carefully, lips pursed with exasperation.

“You have to lay still! You’re going to damage something further if you don’t.” he insisted.

The man shook his head as Qui-Gon collapsed against the bed.

“You Jedi put yourself through a lot. Hopefully your Temple is better medically equipped than we are. We’ll reach Coruscant soon enough.”

Qui-Gon felt his pulse catch, he tried to sit up again, ignoring the man’s angry reprimand. He was in space. He could feel the hum of engines through the metal floor, the man’s uniform suddenly familiar. He had to find Obi-Wan. He moved to get up again, flinching as a sharp sensation hit his wrist. He turned his head, glimpsing the needle sliding from his arm. He tried to speak again but the room was darkening, was sliding away from him…

* * *

He woke suddenly, body instantly tensing. He blinked up at the gray ceiling, too disoriented to move as a tall Bith approached the bed, large dark eyes widening with surprise.

“I expected you wouldn’t wake for at least a few more hours.” She murmured, her Coruscant accent unmistakable.

Qui-Gon stared at her, feeling dazed and unsure as he detected the sedative still lingering in his system. The mask was gone, along with the tubes that had been connected to him. She smiled reassuringly, resting a hand on the edge of the bed that he lay on but not attempting to touch him.

“You’ve been unconscious for quite a long time Master Jinn. Three days to be exact. We’re sorry that we had to sedate you, you were not in your right mind. We stabilized you as soon as possible and we’re en route to Coruscant. The Jedi healers informed me you were in a healing trance of some kind when we contacted them. It’s a relief to see you awake sir, we thought when we found you…”

She dipped her head, the curved bare shape of it larger than a humans as she studied him. Beneath the cream toned medical coat she wore he saw she was outfitted in the standard dark blue uniform of the Judicial Department. He tried to sit up and she sighed, carefully maneuvering his bed into a sitting position.

“Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon rasped out finally, unable to say more, his tone desperate.

She frowned,

“The other Jedi? He’s still asleep.”

Qui-Gon moved, trying to get up again,

“I need to see him.” He insisted, his voice harsh from misuse.

“He’s asleep right now,” she repeated gently, delicate long fingers gesturing, “he’s had very extensive surgery.”

At Qui-Gon’s expression she shook her head,

“He’ll recover, as will you, but he lost a lot of blood and his lungs were severely damaged. There was a puncture in his left lung that should have been treated long ago and intense strain on his heart and kidneys. It will be awhile before he’s ready to wake up. Both of you have been sleep deprived and malnourished as well as recovering from the side-effects of very harmful chemical substances.”

She frowned, her furrowed brow wrinkling further, her soft musical voice concerned,

“I really don’t know what went on down on KalVris’ surface but we’ve been looking for you everywhere for the last two weeks. I almost couldn’t believe it when our scans picked up two Force-sensitives in the middle of that flood.”

Qui-Gon looked down at his hands, the skin no longer scraped, a slight pink tone showing where bacta had been applied earlier. It was odd to no longer have to endure the rain that had been such a constant part of his life for the last few weeks. His body felt sore but the pain was manageable. His mind ached for Obi-Wan’s presence. His ability to harness the Force was weak but he suspected it was from the healing trance and whatever drugs remained in his system. He could sense the other minds aboard the ship but not Obi-Wan’s. It was understandable, considering the man was still asleep, but he found it impossible to relax until he was able to see Obi-Wan again, to know without question that the man had survived.

* * *

Qui-Gon stood in the austere surroundings of his quarters at the Jedi Temple. The light gray of the walls and the sparse amount of furnishings had once filled him with a sense of peace and solitude but now it disquieted him to be so alone with nothing meaningful to fill the only home he knew. He moved carefully to the long window that ran across one wall, staring blankly at the view before him. His injuries had been healed well enough that the healers had released him after only a day. The bruises and scrapes were fading, his lungs were already repaired. The chemical dependence had not taken strong enough hold on his system to have serious consequences and with meditation the effects from withdrawal were nonexistent. His knee had already undergone two surgeries and would likely need a third. Even with long-term treatment, Qui-Gon suspected that he would always walk with a slight limp. Still, the pain was moderate and with time he would regain his former strength.

His reflection in the glass was ghostly, his skin pale from weeks without sunlight. His hair, though washed, was untamed. He had not had the time to untangle it. Truthfully, he knew the best option would be to cut it short but he found himself listless, uncaring of things that had to be done. A strange indecision had filled him since his return to the Temple. He had tried to complete the tasks still assigned to him but he felt fatigued and preoccupied when speaking with other Jedi. When Qui-Gon could no longer put it off, he had finally sent a mission report to the Council describing his imprisonment. It was vague at best and he knew that it was only a matter of time before the Council would formally request he speak before them.

He had not been able to formulate a response to KalVris. The KalVris government had sent an insincere note once the Judicial Department had contacted them, apologizing for the ‘inconveniences’ that Qui-Gon had faced. It wasn’t the first time he had seen torture and imprisonment disregarded by those in power but it bothered him more now. Qui-Gon stared at his reflection, his expression strained slightly. He still had not seen Obi-Wan.

The healers had not necessarily forbid him from seeing the other man, but he knew that the Council was already speculating that something had occurred between him and the younger knight. Master Yoda was powerful in the ways of the Force, the mind link between him and Obi-Wan could not go undetected. Qui-Gon frowned, looking down at the gray tiled floor. His inability to use the Force on KelVris had not prevented him from forming a connection of some kind with Obi-Wan. It had strengthened when the other man had defended him and when they had accepted that death was the only possibility for them before they were rescued.

Qui-Gon bit his lower lip, thinking hard. He was drawn to Obi-Wan, that much he knew. It was apparent enough that the healers had mentioned his concern over Obi-Wan to the Council and the Council had encouraged the healers to further separate the two Jedi. He had returned to his quarters and spent a full day in meditation as ordered by the Council, but he would not close the mental link between Obi-Wan and himself. He could not sense the man’s mind fully, there was no communication between them, nothing but the barest hint of contact that told him Obi-Wan was alive. There was no reason for him to continue to defy the Council’s implied order and refuse to break the tentative link, except that he could not bear to let Obi-Wan go without speaking to the man first.

Qui-Gon turned abruptly, going into his quarters small kitchen. He set tealeaves aside for tea, reaching over without thinking to access the water controls that ran along the edge of the sink. Water curved through the clear glass pipes along the wall, running from three separate faucets into the stone basin that he gripped suddenly, overcome for a moment by the sound of water falling against stone. Memories of the labor camp rose sharply, puncturing through his façade of calm. _The rain soaking him, mud clinging to his wet skin. Watching water pour over the huge stone wall that surrounded the camp. Lightning flashing macabre over them, Obi-Wan’s face obscured by blood, Qui-Gon’s fingers pressed to the man’s chest, trying to seal a wound that he had no way of healing…_

Shakily, Qui-Gon fumbled for the controls, turning the water off and retreating to the main room, his pulse racing. His knee ached as he stumbled, nearly collapsing in a straight-backed chair that was positioned to observe the view of Coruscant. He stared down at his trembling hands, unsure suddenly if he could readapt to his life as a Jedi. He had never been this affected by a mission, had never had difficulty sleeping and now he found himself struggling daily to put aside unpleasant reminders of the labor camp, waking up in the night to find himself automatically reaching for Obi-Wan. He inhaled slowly, determined to remain calm. The Council was tentative about assigning him another mission. They had sensed his inability to focus, his connection to Obi-Wan, his fear of loss. They had not rebuked him for it yet but they would if he were unable to let go of what was part of the past.

He pushed himself upright, ignoring the slight unsteadiness in his leg as he limped over to the other side of the room. A holoscreen rose at his light touch across the surface of two raised buttons on the edge of his desk. Qui-Gon lifted a hand, splitting the translucent screen into two separate ones, allowing one to remain stationary as he reopened the response he had received from KalVris on the other screen. He stared at the message, it had not been an apology for his and Obi-Wan’s imprisonment so much as it had been the political maneuvering of a government denial that labor camps existed on KalVris. With the flood having destroyed what remained of the camp there was little evidence he could offer but he had a strong feeling that the labor camp was only one of many. The wording of the KalVris government message carried implications that reinforced the purist mindset he had already encountered there. Without explicitly saying so, the KalVrisites made it clear that they believed that the imprisonment was the Jedi’s fault for interfering, despite the fact that he and Obi-Wan had been assigned to KalVris by the Senate who were responding to a KalVris request for ambassadors. Qui-Gon closed the screen quickly, one hand curling in a fist.

The situation was uncertain. The Council would request more information than what his first report contained and the Senate would decide on whether or not to formally investigate KalVris. The matter would most likely take months to resolve. At that thought he felt a wave of exhaustion and he turned to the remaining screen, searching for any information on the flood that had occurred. There was little data found. KalVris’s Time of Rain happened often enough that floods were commonplace, particularly in areas located on low ground. The planet’s elite remained safe in homes built to sustain damage, and capital cities were protected by expensive forcefields, far different from the primitive buildings that he had seen in the labor camp.

Qui-Gon grimaced, shutting down the other screen and stepping back. He had seen many different types of class hierarchies in his life as a Jedi, such disparity in status and wealth was almost always rooted in prejudice. It had always bothered him, something his master had never understood. Master Dooku believed that if an event occurred, no matter the type of event, then it was meant to happen. If there was suffering than that suffering must be necessary for the good of others. It was a philosophy Qui-Gon could never believe in and he disliked the Council’s ambivalence toward those that supported it. There may be truth to such a concept, but it was cruel and bred apathy. It had been one of many beliefs that he and his former master had disagreed on.

He thought of the KalVrisites, their wariness and disdain for offworlders. The ragged state of the labor camp, the hardened faces of the guards, the miserable drugged expressions of the other laborers. Had any of them known that their fate was tied to their environment? How many floods had the camp withstood before that one? Was the location badly planned, or had it been deliberately built there? A labor camp for prisoners that could be conveniently erased in a few years if the rains were bad enough…

He sucked in a breath, shaking his head. He had no evidence, only beliefs. But Qui-Gon knew with the resoluteness of his own intuition that Obi-Wan and him were never meant to survive the labor camp. Perhaps the guards who had tried to assault them had been instructed to kill them and had chosen to entertain themselves first. It was miraculous that Obi-Wan and him had been able to endure the camp for as long as they had, that the Judicial Department had found them during the flood after searching for weeks.

The door to his quarters suddenly beeped and Qui-Gon waved a hand toward the controls, still relieved to be able to harness the Force. He expected a councilmember or a healer as the door slid back smoothly. It was Obi-Wan. The man stood still for a moment in the door’s entrance, returning Qui-Gon’s stare before stepping in with that steady determination Qui-Gon had seen in him so many times. Qui-Gon looked at him, unable to move, his eyes wide.

He felt as if he were seeing Obi-Wan for the first time. He had become more familiar with how Obi-Wan’s body felt in his arms in the damp barracks than how the man looked. On KalVris, they had both been covered in mud, drenched, and exhausted, holding to one another in the dark. Now, Obi-Wan’s skin was pale and very clean, making Qui-Gon think of the whiteness of shells, of bone. The smaller Jedi wore tunics of an off-white tone, the lights of the room gleaming against him as he took another step closer. His hair was a lighter auburn than Qui-Gon recalled, a brown-red color that shown almost bronze in certain areas. It was still short, the man’s bangs pushed back for now. He was clean-shaven again, his cheekbones more visible than before. His eyes caught Qui-Gon’s attention, they were large, rimmed with long lashes, the green-blue color of them striking compared to the light gray tones of the room. Qui-Gon stepped forward without knowing it and Obi-Wan’s gaze flickered to Qui-Gon’s knee, watching the slight motion, examining how Qui-Gon refrained from putting full pressure on his right leg. Something more powerful than happiness filled Qui-Gon as Obi-Wan looked up at him, the man’s expression serious, studying. Their minds were shielded only faintly from one another, thoughts almost touching.

“You are well?”

The sound of Obi-Wan’s voice was still unfamiliar, the low accented pitch of it carried almost a hum to it that lit the edges of their connection. Qui-Gon absorbed each syllable, the words like a gift after the silence in the camp. There had been a time, during their imprisonment that he had wondered if Obi-Wan would ever speak again. He tilted his head in a nod. Obi-Wan continued to watch him steadily. There were signs that the younger man was still injured. His breath was more audible than it should be but each inhale and exhale was calm and measured. The lung damage had been more severe and was healing slower than Qui-Gon’s, but it did not appear painful. Qui-Gon’s gaze slid to Obi-Wan’s chest where the blaster wound had been, where his own hands had frantically pressed to try to get Obi-Wan to breathe again. He remembered blood sliding over his fingers, thick and warm. Remembered how the ceaseless torrent of the rain had felt insubstantial compared to how much blood Obi-Wan had lost. Fear had sliced into him like a blade when he had heard the blaster shot impact flesh, when he had thought he would lose Obi-Wan, a fear that had threatened to tear his mind apart.

“I was so afraid you would die.” he heard himself say hoarsely, the memory of Obi-Wan’s limp body in his arms suddenly overwhelming, filling his vision.

A hand reached out, gripped his arm, and gently led him to a chair. Qui-Gon blinked, staring at the floor, forcing his breathing to return to normal, feeling Obi-Wan’s hand on him keeping him present. He lifted his head slowly, unable to be ashamed of the crippling emotions running through him not when Obi-Wan looked at him, the man’s face without judgement, his eyes darkening with his own sense of loss.

“The Council…” Obi-Wan began but did not say more.

Qui-Gon shook his head,

“I know.” He replied quietly.

He did not need to hear how the Council wished to separate them, how they suspected that the mental link between Obi-Wan and him was formed in the wrong place, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. Obi-wan nodded, seeming to understand what Qui-Gon felt about the entire matter. He stood at the man’s side, his hand still resting on Qui-Gon’s arm.

“Do you have a comb?” he finally asked.

Qui-gon looked up at him in confusion and Obi-Wan reached out fingertips barely touching the ends of Qui-Gon’s snarled mane that tumbled thick and wild past the man’s shoulders.

“Your hair,” He said quietly, the ghost of a smile on his features.

Qui-Gon gestured wordlessly to the bathroom and Obi-Wan left, returning after a brief search. He moved around Qui-Gon’s chair, comb in hand, his every movement fluid, different but the same compared to the controlled motions he had used in the camp. A strange sensation rose in Qui-Gon as Obi-Wan began to comb a small section of the man’s hair, stopping often to untangle knotted strands with that mix of efficiency and tenderness that Qui-Gon had come to know so well from the other man. At first they were silent, reaching for each other’s minds only tentatively. Qui-Gon closed his eyes at Obi-Wan’s careful movements, unsure if he should speak of KalVris. The memories of their imprisonment seemed both nearer and further away with Obi-Wan here, his presence soothing, yet at the same time raising questions in Qui-Gon’s mind.

“KalVris has sent an apology.” Obi-Wan said after a number of minutes had passed, he had set the comb down and was untangling a snarl of hair with diligent fingers, possessing a patience that Qui-Gon would have never had.

Qui-Gon lifted a shoulder slightly in a shrug,

“Yes.”

He could feel Obi-Wan’s agitation at KalVris’s response merge with his own, underneath their anger there was the newness of their connection, the depth of it compelling even as there was hesitation on both their parts and concern that they would not be allowed to keep mental contact. Both of them were unable to avoid acknowledging that a link outside a padawan bond was rare and would be discouraged by the Council.

“I do not think that the Senate will want to intervene in the situation on KalVris. Though I believe Master Gallia will convince the Chancellor to consider an investigation. If that happens, one, or both of us, will likely be sent to KalVris again as a gesture of good faith.”

Obi-Wan’s statement was the most that Qui-Gon had ever heard him say at one time. He tilted his head slightly, mindful of the tangles that Obi-Wan was still combing through. He knew Obi-Wan was right, though he was unsure how their return to KalVris would do anything other than irritate the government. As it was, he had little faith in the planet’s ability to negotiate. His own bitterness surprised him. He closed his eyes, willing himself to remember that they had seen only a small part of KalVris, perhaps the worst part. There would still be individuals there who would not have treated them with such brutality. Even the rain had blocked him from seeing little but ruin on KalVris, though the mission briefing had informed him of other environments outside the Time of Rain. He thought fleetingly of the small six-petaled dark blue flower that was highly valued on KalVris and many other planets as well, he could not recall its name.

“Nightdream.” Obi-Wan answered instantly for him.

Qui-Gon blinked, aware of how their minds closed in on one another, brushing closer, almost within reach, the closeness unknown to both of them, but desired. They did not speak for long minutes. Finally Obi-Wan set the comb down, running careful fingers through the man’s graying hair, now brushed. The gesture was surprisingly intimate. Obi-Wan’s hand shifted away, coming to rest on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. Without thought, Qui-Gon reached up, laying his hand over Obi-Wan’s. The man’s grip on his shoulder was gentle but he knew the strength there. He turned his head to look up at Obi-Wan who leaned down. Later, he would remember how their hands came together, fingers tangling, how his other hand slid to touch the smooth expanse of Obi-Wan’s throat, thumb brushing against the curve of Obi-Wan’s jawline as he kissed him.

In the same way that they had instinctively protected one another in the camp and held close to each other when death was the only thing they knew, they came to this moment, this breath before and after, forever changed. Neither of them had ever deviated from the Code in this manner. Perhaps there should have been shyness, and yet, Obi-Wan’s mouth took his with a certainty that thrilled Qui-Gon, the kiss deepening as their minds opened to one another, Obi-Wan welcoming him in.

A driving focus thrummed through them both, separate from the Force, alive in their bodies, blooming through their minds. Both of them drew back slightly, eyes wide. Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, the other Jedi’s lips parted, wet. The sensation was electrifying, escalating but still within their control.

“The link?” Obi-Wan murmured and Qui-Gon shook his head, unsure.

It was possible that it was the connection between them strengthening, the driving pull a symptom connected to that but it was equally possible that this was how desire felt, something neither he nor Obi-Wan had experienced before. He stood, turning and taking Obi-Wan’s face in his hands, kissing the man fully, his tongue delving into the man’s mouth. Obi-Wan made a soft low sound, his own fingers stroking down Qui-Gon’s arms, his touch searching and sought for. It was more than longing, other sensations were bleeding in through their connection and they broke apart again. Obi-Wan looked up at him. Though he had not seen the man clearly in the camp, he remembered that gesture, the way Obi-Wan’s head would tilt slightly up and to the side, his stare the same stare he leveled at Qui-Gon when they had met at the end of each workday, watchful for injury, relieved to know the other was still alive.

“It’s alright.” Obi-Wan said quietly and Qui-Gon was aware that he was trembling, that Obi-Wan was holding him and he thought again of the camp, of Obi-Wan bleeding in his arms, of knowing that for a brief time Obi-Wan had died and he had been alone, uncaring of the flood rushing to consume him.

* * *

Qui-Gon did not know when they had moved from the main room, he knew only that they were now lying in his bed, limbs entwined, absorbing the comfort that came with the closeness of being held. They had undressed one another carefully, both of them needing the deeper contact of skin against skin. The exposure of flesh so recently damaged was a reminder that they were still healing, still vulnerable.

Obi-Wan lie tucked against Qui-Gon’s side the same way he had all those days ago. Qui-Gon pulled a blanket over them both, encircling the smaller man with his arms. They did not sleep but remained still and quiet, the room’s lights lit so that a soft white glow shone over them both, keeping the darker memories at bay.

“You didn’t speak in the camp,” Qui-Gon said gently.

Obi-Wan shifted against him, the man’s cheek resting against Qui-Gon’s bare chest.

“I could not find the words.” He whispered.

Qui-Gon looked down seeing the man’s hair, untidy slightly now, and the curve of Obi-Wan’s spine as the man lie curled up against him. He placed his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder blade, feeling the bone and muscle of the man’s back shift under his fingers as Obi-Wan slid his arm around Qui-Gon’s waist, the motion conveying both strength and grace. Qui-Gon knew that it would be a long time before they were free of what the labor camp had done to both of them. The costs they were still bearing.

He had seen the smooth shine of the scar on Obi-Wan’s chest from being shot, bruises still faintly there from where Qui-Gon had tried to push air into the Jedi’s failing lungs. The pinker patches of bacta-healed skin were visible on both of them in the glow of the room’s white lamps.  
Dark marks from fingerprints encircled one of Obi-Wan’s lean biceps from where Qui-Gon had gripped him tightly when they were caught in the flood. He still could not quite comprehend the devastation they had gone through, the fear of living without Obi-Wan, the knowledge that he would chose not to. It was beyond the Jedi mandates of governing emotion, of living life untouched by grief and terror and joy. He bent his head, pressing a kiss into Obi-Wan’s hair.

“I love you.”

Qui-Gon did not know he intended to say the words until they were spoken. Obi-Wan lifted his head, looking up at him. He reached up, touching the side of Qui-Gon’s face. His eyes gleamed, almost wet in the room. He said nothing, he did not have to. Obi-Wan shifted so that he knelt on the bed, the blanket falling aside, uncaring of his own nudity, the beauty and masculinity of his healing body. He regarded Qui-Gon for a long moment before speaking, his voice quiet in the room.

“When we were captured, I promised myself that I would never let anything happen to you.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed slightly, gaze distant. He shook his head as if to clear it, reaching out and placing a hand over Qui-Gon’s,

“My life is yours.”

Qui-Gon looked up at him, at this man who had sacrificed so much for him, who had from the very beginning done everything in his power to protect Qui-Gon despite his greater injuries. It was not only the Force that had connected their minds but also this emotion that encompassed them, that forged both of them into something stronger. Its presence was there at the edges of the bond they were establishing, waiting to be called into permanence. Love was the only term he had for it but it felt insubstantial compared to what resonated within both of them.

“You would have died for me.” He whispered and Obi-Wan lifted his jaw with that streak of stubbornness that Qui-Gon had glimpsed in him before.

He remembered the labor camp, the way Obi-Wan and him had held to each other at night, the rain and the mud and the look in the guards eyes when Qui-Gon had offered himself to spare Obi-Wan. The moment when Obi-Wan had sacrificed himself to defend Qui-Gon as if it were his honor, his right. Warm fingers curled around Qui-Gon’s larger hand, Obi-Wan bent his head, the light shining across his torso, showing faint, near-invisible freckles along his arms and shoulders. The circular scar on his chest was stark against his skin. Qui-Gon reached out, touching it without knowing he was going to. Obi-Wan remained still, watching him. The connection between them was filling with light, pulsing with that same flow of energy they had felt earlier. The Code forbid this closeness, this intimacy, this need. He knew it would not be allowed, just as Qui-Gon knew that neither he or Obi-Wan cared anymore. He fingered the sealed over wound, the skin shining and scarred white. Obi-Wan bent down, kissing him slowly, the gesture soft, loving. Qui-Gon’s hand moved to Obi-Wan’s waist, settling in the slight hollow there above the jut of a hipbone. His other hand ran up Obi-Wan’s back, caressing smooth skin, sliding into the man’s hair as Obi-Wan deepened the kiss, the taste of his mouth more vital than air.

Their hands touched, mouths, bodies, Obi-Wan murmuring softly, his fingers gently gripping Qui-Gon’s shoulders. There was still bruising on them, their skin sensitive from bacta treatments and the constant exposure to rain so that they moved carefully with one another, desire a warm humming sensation in their limbs. Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan’s ribs. He rested a palm over the man’s lean stomach, breaking away from the man’s kiss to press his mouth against a slender neck and the curve of the man’s collarbone. He felt Obi-Wan arch slightly into the contact, the man’s hands gentle as he stroked Qui-Gon’s shoulders. The clean scent of the other man, the feel of warm skin, the flex of subtle muscle beneath his hands was exhilarating. He moved back up to recapture Obi-Wan’s small mouth, tenderly kissing him. He cupped the man’s face in his hands, prolonging the kiss, his tongue exploring Obi-Wan’s mouth. One hand slid again to the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, stroking the ends of the man’s short hair.

When they drew apart, Obi-Wan was smiling very slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. Qui-Gon pushed the long bangs back gently, remembering how much he had wanted to do that when they were imprisoned. He studied the other man’s smile, aware of how rare it was in a being as serious as Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan’s gaze met his own, light eyes intense as he shifted so that he straddled Qui-Gon, his lithe form moving with that same agility and power that Qui-Gon had been surprised at after their ship crashed. Nudity did not necessarily convey sexual connotations to him but he was very aware now of how new this was to them both, Obi-Wan’s slender frame over him, the bareness of his skin. The way the younger man’s aroused body pressed against his own felt tantalizing, erotic.

He gasped, murmuring softly as Obi-Wan looked up at him. There was something pleasing about having Obi-Wan on top of him, the man’s lighter weight comforting. He was both taller and stronger than Obi-Wan and could easily reverse their position but he had no intention of doing so. He ran a hand over Obi-Wan’s back, felt the slight ridge of the man’s spine, the curve as Obi-Wan arched again into his touch, their link overflowing with sensation.

The slight strength of Obi-Wan’s upper body was riveting as he ran his palms over Qui-Gon’s arms, a soft flush of color suffusing his cheeks and trailing down his chest. Qui-Gon gazed at him, seeing glimpses of the man he had barely known before their imprisonment and the man he had known in the labor camp. Obi-Wan touched his collarbone, looking down before meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes, the motion suddenly shy. He knew what the man wanted, what they both wanted. The link had widened between them, their minds connecting, blazing with light. Silent words passed between them, love, joy, acknowledgement of their own longing, consent, need, closeness.

Obi-Wan slipped off him, kissing him before leaving the room, returning only minutes later from the bathroom with a round jar of massage oil. He set it down on the small table near Qui-Gon’s bed before kneeling once more by the man’s side. Qui-Gon reached out, resting a hand on Obi-Wan’s thigh, stroking the man’s skin with his thumb. The connection between them carried its own intensity, heightening the awareness of each touch. With concentration, Qui-Gon could feel the way Obi-Wan’s mind opened to him, could feel the phantom sensation of his own hand on Obi-Wan’s skin, the pleasure the other man was experiencing.

Obi-Wan leaned over him, hesitating only slightly and Qui-Gon reached out, maneuvering the man so that Obi-Wan was above him again. The smaller man smiled, running the flat of his hand over Qui-Gon’s side. He pressed a kiss to the broad plane of the older man’s shoulder, fingers gently brushing Qui-Gon’s long hair aside. He felt Obi-Wan’s other hand run down to stroke over a hip, then the inside of Qui-Gon’s thigh. Qui-Gon parted his legs, shifting so that Obi-Wan knelt between them. The movement jarred his still healing knee, the joint responding not with pain but a tight unwieldy sensation at the motion. Obi-Wan paused as the feeling slipped through their connection. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to reassure the man but Obi-Wan was already examining Qui-Gon’s kneecap, his touch light as it brushed over the recent scars from surgery.

“The cartilage is still damaged.” He stated more than guessed and Qui-Gon reached out touching Obi-Wan’s arm.

“It will take time for it to repair itself. The healers believe that another surgery should correct any lingering problems.”

Obi-Wan frowned and for a moment their bond was overlaid with the memory of Qui-Gon struggling to rise from a bloodied floor, his knee blown open by the blastershot meant for Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon inhaled at how clear the image was but almost instantly it vanished, leaving only Obi-Wan who was still frowning, his hands trembling very faintly. Qui-Gon slid arms around the man’s narrow waist and pulled him down so that Obi-Wan lie against his chest, their bodies tightly embracing. The labor camp was still present in their minds, perhaps it always would be. The danger hadn’t shaken them as much as the fear of losing one another, a fear Qui-Gon knew he would always battle as long as they remained at each other’s side. After awhile, Obi-Wan drew back, looking down at Qui-Gon, his mind lost in deep thought.

“I wanted to keep you safe.” He said softly, that slight unidentifiable accent adding richness to his voice.

Qui-Gon reached out, brushing fingertips over Obi-Wan’s cheek,

“You did.” He whispered.

The Force moved through them, enfolding them and Obi-Wan bent and kissed him hard. The man’s passion drew a low noise from Qui-Gon, his hands sliding up, gripping Obi-Wan’s back. He felt Obi-Wan’s mouth open more to him the younger man’s fingers spreading over the lean muscle of Qui-Gon’s chest and stomach. Hips rolled down experimentally against Qui-Gon and the older man gasped, moving up into the sensation without thinking. When Obi-Wan drew back his gaze was simultaneously fiery and gentle. The man’s hair had fallen forward again and Obi-Wan pushed his long bangs back, running a hand through his hair without any concept of how attractive he appeared. His blue-green eyes glittered in the soft white lights of the room and his hips moved again, his slender body insistent, yet careful. Qui-Gon gasped, nodding at the question in Obi-Wan’s eyes. He arched slightly as a hand brushed over his erection, touching him shyly at first, than more firmly. Obi-Wan leaned down, mouthing Qui-Gon’s neck and shoulder as Qui-Gon moved into the motion with a breathless moan. He had never experienced pleasure like this, with this sort of intensity and care behind each sensation as Obi-Wan moved only to retrieve the jar of oil.

Qui-Gon looked up at him, his body tense with arousal, pleased at the feel of Obi-Wan so close. Obi-Wan kissed him again, Qui-Gon closing his eyes, feeling slick fingers reach between his parted thighs. He moved his leg up, sliding it over Obi-Wan’s hip, the younger man steadying his knee, careful to not put too much pressure on their still healing bodies. Obi-Wan’s mouth moved down his throat, lingering at Qui-Gon’s collarbone and chest, murmuring words of devotion into the other Jedi’s pale skin. Never had Qui-Gon considered making love to anyone before, it was not thought of as a Jedi. Now he longed for Obi-Wan with a desire that astounded him. He felt Obi-Wan’s mind focus entirely on pleasuring him, the younger man still somewhat shy at his own unfamiliarity with physical intimacy.

The oil was slippery and cold, becoming heated under Obi-Wan’s skilled fingers as they brushed over Qui-Gon’s entrance, circling the muscle, the action both further arousing Qui-Gon and relaxing him. His breaths were rapid as Obi-Wan kissed up his ribcage, lifting his head to meet Qui-Gon’s eyes as he gently slipped the tip of a finger inside Qui-Gon. It did not hurt but felt somewhat strange. Qui-Gon inhaled, nodding at Obi-Wan’s silent question, feeling Obi-Wan’s finger move deeper into him before retreating. This time it was two wet fingers that slid into him, opening him carefully. Qui-Gon gasped sharply and Obi-Wan stilled, Qui-Gon shook his head in protest, aware suddenly that Obi-Wan’s touch was deep enough to brush something that jarred intense pleasure through him. He felt Obi-Wan tremble at the shared feeling and continue moving. Qui-Gon gasped, giving a soft cry as Obi-Wan’s other hand circled Qui-Gon’s erection, stroking it lightly. The sensations were on the edge of too much and yet not enough. He reached down, touching Obi-Wan’s wrist, feeling the man’s other hand move, fingers scissoring inside him so that he lifted his hips, trying to chase that exquisite feeling. And then Obi-Wan’s fingers were slipping out and Obi-Wan was kissing him gently. Qui-Gon kissed back, hearing the slick sound of oil, the slight ring of glass against metal as Obi-Wan set the jar down carefully on the nightstand. Qui-Gon slid a hand over the man’s chest, pausing only briefly over the round scar before moving his hand down a little lower, resting it over Obi-Wan’s heart.

Their bodies met, Qui-Gon not sure what to expect but needing to have Obi-Wan as a part of him. Obi-Wan pressed against him and Qui-Gon gasped loudly at the sensation of being penetrated. Obi-Wan stilled, running fingers soothingly down Qui-Gon’s side, his eyes searching Qui-Gon’s face for any signs of discomfort. It was an unusual feeling, but not unpleasant. Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan’s face, shifting his hips, encouraging Obi-Wan to move. The younger man leaned down, kissing him, one hand pressing against the outside of Qui-Gon’s left thigh. Qui-Gon gasped again, making a small noise as Obi-Wan slid further into him, brushing that sensitive place inside him. His nerve endings came alive, pleasure sweeping through him as Obi-Wan murmured his name. Slowly, the younger man began to thrust, his motions still careful.

Obi-Wan kissed him again and Qui-Gon opened his mouth to the other Jedi, their hands tangling, sliding over each other’s skin as Obi-Wan moved on him. The escalating sensation of pleasure was building, reaching through him and Obi-Wan moaned into his mouth, his pace increasing slightly as Qui-Gon’s hips rose to meet each thrust. The connection between their minds was awash with beauty, intensity, happiness. His arms tightened on the other Jedi as he took Obi-Wan into the depths of himself, his mouth trailed over the exposed skin of Obi-Wan’s throat, fingers brushing back Obi-Wan’s sweat-dampened bangs. Each slide into him left him feeling as if he were filling with light, the power of Obi-Wan’s movements tempered by his tenderness and his slight awkwardness at making love for the first time. Qui-Gon held on to him, treasuring the soft almost silent sounds Obi-Wan made, the way they both trembled, the bond rising in their minds, the last barriers between their souls falling aside as Obi-Wan shuddered over him and Qui-Gon gasped, his head falling back, ecstasy soaring through them, pulling at each of them until he did not know what part of him was Obi-Wan and what part was himself.

He became aware a short while later, Obi-Wan no longer inside him as they lay on their sides, their limbs wrapped around one another. Obi-Wan stroked Qui-Gon’s long hair with gentle hands that still shook from the force of their shared orgasm. Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan’s face, his body alight with contentment, their skin damp, sensitive as they brushed against one another. He murmured Obi-Wan’s name and the man responded with a soft kiss. The Force moved between them, their minds joined deeply, effortlessly. Their hands connected, Qui-Gon entwining their fingers. He leaned down, resting his forehead against Obi-Wan’s, feeling the man’s love for him flow through their bond, as limitless as an infinite ocean.

**Author's Note:**

> Bottom!Qui-Gon… bet you weren’t expecting that! I personally don’t feel like either one of them is always a set ‘role’, so I imagine they’d switch it up, but I realized I have had yet to write a detailed bottom Qui-Gon scene, so I went with it. Just in general, I find writing sex scenes to be difficult, but I think this turned out alright. I also believe that due to the Code, Jedi don’t have sexual relationships. While, Lucas implied that love is forbidden, but Jedi don’t have to be celibate, I personally don’t think Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon would be interested in having a casual relationship and thus are still virgin when they meet. 
> 
> The Council are not going to be happy when they find out that Qui-Gon didn’t break the link and now has fallen completely in love with Obi-Wan and mentally married him or something. But, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are such a BAMF team that I don’t think they’ll care what the Council says. I mean, they’ve faced a lot worse in the labor camp than a bunch of disapproving Jedi. 
> 
> I personally love Protective Qui-Gon, but I think Obi-Wan is very protective as well and I really wanted to show his devotion and bravery in this fic. I don’t intend to write a sequel but it’s open ended enough I could always write one about them having to go back to KalVris. 
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed!


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